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Copyright 1913 

BY 

O. Bohumil Sulek 



©GI.A3 548G3 

90^ f 


Chapter /. 
Chapter II. 
Chapter III. 

Chapter IV. 
Chapter V. 
Chapter VI. 


The Party. 

The Two Notes. 

The Man Who Sat 

Down and Listened. 

Years in Waiting. 

The House Across the Street. 

A Coincidence. 


PRINTED 

LAMRANCE 

CEDAR 


AND ROUND BV 
PRESS COMPANY 
RAPIDS, IOWA 




^ears in Waiting 

CHAPTER I. 

THE PARTY. 

The door bell gave a long, jerky ring. 

Patsey, who was busy crocheting, folded 
her work and quietly stole before the 
large beveled mirror. The countenance 
which the mirror reflected was accepted 
with an air of satisfaction, for although 
being flve and forty, Patsey seemed to 
lose none of her peaches and cream com- 
plexion of her girlhood days. She was a 
dear lady admired by scores for her good- 
ness of character and the thoughtfulness 
of others which was so paramount with 
her. Ostentation had no part with her. 
Patsey was a spinster. When a babe and 
being christened “Patsey,” her grand- 
mother remarked with a wise and know- 
ink shake of her head, that Patsey was 


Years in Waiting 


doomed to be an old maid, as Patsies 
never marry, therefore her family attrib- 
uted the cause of her spinsterhood to the 
name. On the other hand, Patsey being 
interested in the welfare of the poor tene- 
ment children who were being cared for 
at the Day Nursery, where she was a daily 
caller, and also being somewhat interested 
in the suffrage movement, her many 
friends attributed her spinsterhood to that 
cause. But whatever her friends thought, 
or whatever her family guessed at, Patsey 
knew different. She carefully smoothed 
her hair, and opened the door. She was 
confronted by an elderly man of about 
fifty, dressed in a business suit, smoothly 
shaven face, who gave her a courteous 
smile. She glanced at him with a ques- 
tioning look on her face, taking him for a 
book agent, although he seemed to have 
none of that alluring literature to dis- 
play; perhaps he was one of the down- 
town business men who was interested in 


Years in Waiting 


the Day Nursery or the suffrage cause, 
but as these thoughts passed through her 
mind with cyclonic rapidity, he stood be- 
fore her, smiling more friendly. Some- 
thing told her that she had seen that face 
somewhere — back, many years back — 
could it be — no — that was impossible — 
but it was — 

‘‘Dick r 
“Pats !” 


Twenty years ago the ballroom of the 
Ha3aier home was filled with a congenial 
young crowd. The chirping young voices 
of the fair sex, the trippings of their 
small feet, mingled Avith the deep voices 
of the opposite sex, added a charm to the 
social atmosphere. The massive columns 
of the ballroom entwined with smilax, the 
brightly lit chandeliers whose soft lights 
illuminated the spacious room, the large 
palms standing in the corners, the cool 


Years in Waiting 


breeze floating in through the open win- 
dows, the orchestra’s bewitching melodies 
floating thither and hither from behind 
the screens of flowers and ferns, gave the 
ballroom an air of completeness. 

The orchestra had just finished one of 
those dreamy waltzes, to which everyone 
responded with swaying rhythmic time. 
The couples slowly dispersed around the 
room. Patsey had the number engaged 
with Jack Barrington, and now gaily 
chatted with him. 

‘^Miss Hayner,” a manly voice inter- 
rupted, with a nod to Jack Barrington, 
“^‘which number may I have the pleasure 
of dancing with you ?” 

Patsey smiled as she handed him the 
card. 

“You may have the ninth,” she an- 
swered, “and,” sotto voce, “the tenth if 
you wish,” with a sparkle in her soft 
brown eyes. 


Years in Waiting 

^•'And the eleventh?” he concluded, see- 
ing that the three consecutive numbers 
were not engaged. 

Patsey nodded her approval. Dick 
Smythe filled the vacant lines, hastily 
scrutinized her card, and saw that most 
of her numbers were engaged with Jack 
Barrington. He handed back her card, 
thanked her gallantly, nodded to Jack, 
and joined the crowd across the room 
from which he had previously excused 
himself. 

Jack Barrington and Dick Smythe were 
rivals. They were so in school, and con- 
tinued to remain so, long after they had 
left that institution of higher education. 
Patsey’s family favored Jack’s attention 
for no other reason than that he was the 
only son of one of the city’s wealthiest 
magnates, whose family was prominent in 
state affairs since territorial days. But 
Jack did not inherit any of his ancestors’ 
thriftiness — or if he did, did not make 


191 


Years in Waiting 


any extra effort to make use of it. The 
money his idleness required was always 
within easy access to him. His frequent 
visits to the Hayner home were looked 
upon by his associates as an early an- 
nouncement of the engagement of Miss 
Hayner to him. But Patsey thought dif- 
ferent. She somehow never responded 
to his affections. She always kept him at 
her arm’s length, giving him no encour- 
agement whatever. Jack was fully aware 
of this, but it only made him more and 
more persistent. 

Dick Smythe was an orphan, who 
worked his way through school under 
tedious obligations. He was the exact op- 
posite of J ack. Patsey always looked upon 
him as a self-made man, and although he 
lacked what Jack Barrington was so for- 
timately endowed with, his charm and 
self-confidence carried him through the 
social world. He gained influence with 
the men he came in contact with, who ap- 

[ 10 j 


Years in Waiting 


preciated his self-effort. Being in the em- 
ployment of the city’s largest real estate 
firm, he was making a name for himself 
in the business world. It was this busi- 
ness experience that made him a real 
American, with no trace of snobbishness 
in his make-up. He learned to take a 
man as he found him, respect or despise 
him for the good or bad qualities which* he 
discerned in him. Now and then he 
would accompany Patsey to a social func- 
tion, but very seldom. Of the few visits 
he made to the Hayner home, no one was 
the wiser. He appreciated her position, 
and acted accordingly. 

For the moment, Dick’s presence left a 
trace of uneasiness in Jack’s countenance, 
and the contempt and en\7’ which were 
surging within him, were relieved by the 
orchestra striking up a lively air. It was 
the eighth number, and he remembered he 
had it engaged with Patsey. 

“The air outside is so inviting on a hot 


Years in Waiting 


night as this,” he smilingly insinuated, as 
he thought of the bamboo settee, and the 
seclusion and privacy the arbor-covered 
veranda afforded, where he often spent 
many hours with Patsey, ‘^and I presume 
you would not object sitting this number 
out?” 

‘‘That will be delightful ; one needs the 
rest,” Patsey agreed, taking hold of his 
extended arm. The night air was balmy 
and cool. They seated themselves on the 
settee, listening to the music within, and 
the scampering of feet. Patsey was en- 
rapturously beautiful that evening. The 
cool breeze acted as a tonic to her flushed 
cheeks, and seemed to heighten their 
color. Jack watched her in profound 
silence. He regarded her as a sort of an 
enigma. She coyly played with her fan — 
his silence rather amused her. Bewitch- 
ingly, she lifted her eyes to his. 

“Jack, tell me, what difficult problem 
are you trying to solve this evening— 

f 12 j 


Years in Waiting 


could I help you ?” mischievously. 

He looked at her with ardent zeal. 
Could she help him? She was the prob- 
lem, and should know the solution. 

“I love you,” he replied. 

She winced, and leaned baqk with her 
eyes half-closed. “That is a problem,” 
she said, with a slight faltering of her 
voice. . This was a matter for considera- 
tion. 

“And the solution?” he asked, as he 
clasped her small jeweled hand fervently 
in his. 

She shook her head. 

“But I love you,” he persisted. 

“Do you mean you expect me to — to 
marry you?” she broke out. 

This amused him. Did she think he 
was not eligible ? Did she think him un- 
able to provide her with a home — he, a 
son of a man whose millions were the 
topic of many conversations? He looked 
at her with a smile. “I do,” he answered. 


Years in Waiting 


She drew back. The twist of her hand 
in his made him loosen his grip, ^‘It is of 
no use — I can’t — I can’t — ” she pro- 
tested. 

^‘Can you tell me that you do not care 
for me?” he demanded. 

Her effort to regain her raillery was 
fruitful. The mirth that died out of her 
eyes came back. “There are millions of 
impossibilities between you and me,” she 
evaded. 

He felt snubbed, but took it as a part 
of her game. He smiled ingratiatingly, 
and cleared his throat. “Millions ? 
Strange I haven’t seen one,” he mused. 

Her little, even teeth were visible as 
she smiled. “Impaired vision. Perhaps 
a visit to an oculist might be of benefit,” 
she added. 

The eighth number was ended. The 
gay voices from within floated to them. 
He paid no heed to them. She listened. 
Partners were looked up for the next 


Years in Waiting 


number. ‘^The next is the ninth, and I 
must look up Miss Hayner,” came a deep 
voice from within. It was Dick’s. 

‘^There/’ Patsey said, as she quickly 
rose, “I have the next number with Dick. 
He is looking for me. I am sorry for this 
little misunderstanding — ^but I’ll let you 
know tomorrow.” She turned to go in- 
side. But he caught her hand. 

“Then there is hope for me ?” he asked, 
almost pleadingly. 

Her mirthful eyes sparkled as she 
turned them to his. “Never give up 
hoping — it is bad for the system. One al- 
ways should look to the future with a 
pleasant anticipation, and forget the bit- 
terness of the past, if there is any to for- 
get,” she answered as she turned around. 
He let go of her hand, and she softly 
glided towards the door. Dick met her 
at tlie doorway, his face all aglow. 

“The next number is ours, and I was 
looking for you,” he said with a smile. 


1 15 J 


Years in Waiting 


“I wasn’t playing hide-and-go-seek,” 
slie laughed, as she lifted her soft, bright 
eyes to his. 

The orchestra struck up the ninth 
number, which proved to be a waltz, and 
l^atsey, enfolded in Dick’s strong arms, 
glided lightly down the ballroom. After 
they got through dancing the ninth num- 
ber, Patsey and Dick slowly made their 
way to a room off the library. The room 
was inviting, and the open window added 
to its coolness. They sat on the sofa, dis- 
cussing many of the current events, as 
they did in their dear old school-days. 
The tenth number was well played before 
either one noticed it. 

‘‘I would rather sit and listen to the 
music, anyway. How about you. Miss 
Hayner?” Dick asked. 

“Miss Hayner nothing. Call me Pats — 
it is more informal,” Patsey said with a 
smile. 


Years in Waiting 


Pats was a nickname she had at school. 
And if she remembered correctly, Dick 
was the one who started it. At first it 
provoked her, but she got used to it. Dick 
would always call her Pats then, but 
afterwards he felt as though he couldn’t. 

‘^Very well, then,” Dick chimed in, 
“liow about you Pats?” 

“I would, too — a person enjoys it more 
— your corn doesn’t suffer,” she confided. 

“That is the size smaller shoe’s fault, 
not the music’s,” Dick laughed good- 
naturedly. 

“Oh, do you think so? Maybe you are 
right,” Patsey put in laughingly, for no 
matter what the topic of conversation was, 
Dick and Patsey would always agree at 
llie end. At school, when her composi- 
tions used to run along the channels as 
that of Dick’s, Patsey was puzzled. But 
she discovered the cause of that. Once 
she remembered as she was busy at work, 
she turned around and caught Dick peep- 


Years in Waiting 


ing over her shoulder, busily copying her 
work. “Well, it is no wonder that great 
minds run together,” she exclaimed then, 
as Dick looked her devilishly in her eyes. 
All of these recollections, and some late 
ones, Patsey thought over as she sat by 
his side. On looking up she saw Dick 
musing also. 

“What is so interesting, Dick?” she 
asked. 

“Oh, I was just thinking how I used 
to copy your compositions,” he remarked 
gaily, “and how I always wanted to smash 
one in Jack’s face whenever he spoke to 
you.” At this they both laughed. It was 
this fellow feeling that made Dick a won- 
drous kind. 

Slowly, as they sat there together, 
Dick’s moods gave way to seriousness. 
Patsey’s hand got into his in a way that 
was unaccountable. He gazed softly into 
her face. Demurely, she raised her eyes 


Years in Waiting 


to his, but drooped them as she saw his 
serious gaze. 

^Tats/’ Dick broke the reverie, ‘‘there 
is something I wanted to tell you, long 
before this — to tell you how I have 
learned to care for you all these years, but 
somehow or other, I never could. Circum- 
stances were against me. You know why. 
Most all girls in your position would look 
with scorn on poor fellows like me. But 
you never did. You are a wonder, Pats. 
Do you think that there is any — ” 

“Look here, Mr. Smythe and Miss Hay- 
ner,^’ broke in the voice of Alma Winslow, 
“I have been looking around for you all 
this while. The next number is a robber’s 
two-step, and it will not do for you to sit 
here. Hurr)^” and Miss Winslow waited 
for them at the doorway. 

Patsey danced the last number with 
Jack. Before the guests departed, she had 
a chance to say a word to Dick. “I’ll drop 


Years in Waiting 


yf)U a note tomorrow,” she added with a 
knowing glance, as he bade her good 
night. 


CHAPTER 11. 

THE TWO NOTES. 

The following morning, Patsey lounged 
in bed wide awake during the early morn- 
ing hours. The few hours’ sleep had re- 
freshed her wonderfully. Recollections 
of the night before seemed to her like an 
unfinished poem which was folded within 
her. With a smile she dressed and went 
downstairs. Breakfast was in progress 
when she reached the dining room. Mrs. 
ITa}'ner and Charles were alone at the 
breakfast table, Mr. Hayner ha^dng de- 
parted for his office over an hour ago. 

Charles regarded his sister with 
brotherly pride as she entered the dining 
room. “Well, Pats,’‘’ he exclaimed — her 


Years in Waiting 


nickname stuck to her at home also — “it 
certainly looks as though your name isn’t 
against you after all from what I observed 
last night. You looked simply bully in 
that white ruffly dress.” 

Patsey smiled. It was very seldom he 
praised her, and when he did she felt 
somewhat flattered. 

“Yes, Patsey,” her mother conflded, — 
she didn’t believe in nicknames — “you 
looked grand last night; even your father 
said so.” Father always used good judg- 
ment. 

“And believe me, Pats,” Charles put in, 
as he interestedly gazed on his sister, 
“Jack looked good to me also. He cer- 
tainly would make a bully brother-in- 
law.” 

Patsey could not help but smile at her 
brother’s remark. Jack and Charles grew 
up together. There always existed a 
brotherly feeling between them. Her 
brother’s confession amused her. 


Years in Waiting 


‘‘Very true,” nodded Mother, “but that 
is up to Patsey to decide.” Her mother 
was a dear lady who never interfered with 
Patsey’s affairs. She had a suspicion that 
Patsey preferred Dick Smythe to Jack 
Barrington, but she never favored one or 
the other. The decision Patsey arrived at 
would rule. 

Breakfast being over, Patsey stole up- 
stairs into her boudoir. There was a sort 
of wistful prettiness about her face as she 
glanced into the mirror — prettiness min- 
gled with pleasant expectations. It was a 
thrilling time in her life. She never ex- 
pected it. Slie almost knew that Dick 
would never brace up his courage and 
open his heart to her, while she for so 
many years waited for that. She smiled, 
an amused smile, as she thought how the 
proposal was clipped off by the robber’s 
two-step. Anyway, that will give her an 
opportunity to listen to its repetition that 
evening, and in a more romantic place, 

[ 22 ] 


Years in Waiting 

the arbor-covered veranda. She dropped 
into a reverie as she stood before the mir- 
ror, a reverie in which she saw herself sit- 
ting on the bamboo settee with Dick. Her 
eyes sparkled as they never did before, as 
she smilingly watched her image before 
her. Slowly she pulled out a drawer, and 
took out a box of stationery. The note 
she promised Dick must be written now 
so he would get it by the evening’s mail. 
Then there was that note to be written to 
Jack, a note which would impress her 
distance upon him. Quietly she wrote the 
two notes which differed one from another 
as summer does from winter. One carried 
a message of sweetness, contentment, and 
future happiness; the other a message of 
permanent decision. Slowly she sealed 
the faintly scented envelopes. 

A knock at the door. Patsey remem- 
bered she promised to go out for a ride 
with Winifrede Miller in her new carriage. 
That was her knock. In response to 


Years in Waiting 


Patsey’s cheery ‘Tome in/’ Winifrede 
opened the door, her face beaming with 
the morning’s freshness. “Hurry, Pats,” 
she exclaimed as she took Patsey around 
her neck, “Dolly is so impatient when she 
is left alone” — Dolly was the family 
horse — “we will enjoy the ride ever so 
much, the air being so exhilarating this 
morning. It ought to be after such a 
dandy time as I had last night.” 

“Did you really enjoy 3^ourself ?” 
Patsey asked. 

“Certainly — every hit of it. Didn’t 
you?” 

“Quite well,” assented Patsey. Then 
for the next half hour they chatted mer- 
rily. Patsey then addressed the en- 
velopes, which she had previously sealed, 
shielding them carefully from Winif rede’s 
inquisitive eyes, rang the bell, informed 
the maid who responded to the ring, to 
mail them for her. Then, as Dolly ran 
briskly along, Patsey was astonished to 


Years in Waiting 


find her staid heart throbbing with 
exhilaration. 

Jack Barrington spent the day in in- 
tense anxiety. He unceasingly watched 
the clock’s hands. It seemed to him that 
they hardly moved. It was the first day 
he spent at home. The evening mail 
brought relief to his anxious face. On 
searching through the mail, there, smiling 
at him from among the rest, was a faintly 
scented envelope, written in a hand- 
writing he knew so well. His hands some- 
what trembled, as he opened the envelope, 
but his uncertain look gave way to a 
radiant smile as he read : 

Come over tonight, and we will talk the 
matter over further. 

Sincerely, 

Pats. 

He regarded Patsey’s note as one of 
her sweet confessions. He read it over 
and over. But the more he read it, the 
more he felt ill at ease. Why did Patsey 


Years in Waiting 


sign her name ^‘Pats” when she knew how 
he despised it? He never called her by 
that name. Somehow he felt there was 
something wrong about the note, but he 
thrust the sense of it away. 

It was a triumphant smile that beamed 
on Jack Barrington’s face that evening as 
he walked up the steps of the Hayner 
home. He carried a large bouquet of 
American Beauty roses, which he handed 
to the maid who responded to the door 
bell, hinting that they were for Miss Hay- 
ner. The maid conducted Jack to the re- 
ception room, and bowing, made her 
departure. 

When the maid opened the door, lead- 
ing to Patsey’s boudoir, she found her 
waiting. She handed her the bouquet 
with ‘‘A gentleman to see you. Miss,” and 
closed the door, leaving Patsey alone. 
Patsey buried her face in the bouquet and 
inlialed its alluring perfume. When she 
lifted her face and looked into the mirror, 


Years in Waiting 


it looked as though the roses gave her 
cheeks some of their color. She smiled, 
laid the roses on lier bed, and went down- 
stairs. 

Jack Barrington was waiting for her 
when she appeared in the doorway leading 
into the reception room. At the sight of 
him, her heart gave a sudden leap. Every 
curve of her lovely face grew rigid ; but 
slie quickly composed herself. “Jack Bar- 
rington, what does this mean ?” she asked, 
helplessly, the blood burning in her face. 

“It means that I have come to see you,” 
he answered, as a cloud of bewilderment 
fell on his radiant face. 

“After you received my note ?” she 
faltered. 

“After I received your note,” he re- 
plied. 

“You dared?” 

“I dared.” 

It was just beginning to dawn on 
Patsey that Jack Barrington’s visit, for 


Years in Waiting 


which up to that moment she had puzzled 
in vain to discover a reason, had in reality 
a perfectly definite object. 

“Show me tlie note, Jack Barrington,” 
she commanded. 

He regarded her command with an in- 
solent incredulity. Slowly he put his hand 
in his vest pocket and handed her the 
note. 

She felt a sinking sensation at her 
heart as she unfolded the piece of paper, 
and glanced at it. The truth da.wned on 
her. She had addressed the envelope 
intended for Jack Barrington to Dick 
Smythe, and the one intended for Dick 
Smythe to Jack Barrington. “This,” she 
gasped, “was mailed you by a terrible mis- 
take. It should have been mailed to — ” 

“Who?” he asked. 

“Dick Smythe,” she answered. 

His anger and misery stared out of his 
eyes. 

f 28 J 


Years in Waiting 


‘‘And the one Dick Smythe received 
should have gone to you,” she added, me- 
chanically, as she dashed for the tele- 
phone. She quickly called up the club 
where Dick Smythe roomed, asking for 
him, but the voice at the end of the wire 
informed her that unexpected and urgent 
business which required his attention, took 
Dick Smythe out west. 

A choking sigh, that was almost a sob, 
racked her as she put up the receiver. 
From the treatment he received. Jack at 
once surmised the nature of the note in- 
tended for him. He smiled. Jealousy 
got the best of him, and he hoped the note 
took the right effect on Dick. For a few 
moments they looked at each other in 
silence. As he gazed at her, there en- 
veloped him a great desire to take her in 
his arms and comfort her, but her coldness 
and firmness held him back. She had 
no words for him; cold as a stone, she 
stood before him, awaiting his departure. 


Years in Waiting 


There was a touch of anger in his voice as 
he bade her good night. Drooping his 
iiead heavily, he closed the door. 

After his departure, Patsey, her face 
ghastly pale, showing the grief that was 
within her, slipped into her room, hoping 
that dawn would right things. She sat by 
the window a long time, and did not hear 
the maid opening the door. “A message 
for you. Miss,” roused her. Patsy turned 
around, and s^v the maid handing her an 
envelope. She recognized^ the hand- 
writing with an agonizing pain. Her 
hands shook like a leaf as she opened the 
envelope and read : 

“You have made me .suffer terribly, but I 
do not blame you. I do not forgive you to- 
night — because I forgave you long ago. I 
expected that, but somehow I wasn’t pre- 
pared for it — that’s what hurts. I want you 
to be happy — always. 

Dick Smytbe.” 

Her heart contracted with a dizzing 
pain as she turned off the light. Cold 


Years in Waiting 


and lonely she laid her head on a pillow, 
which was soon wet with tears. The pain 
she felt, which shut out all the brightness 
of the world, was almost physical. Long 
after the tears had ceased to flow, she 
laid awake, confiding her sorrow to the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE MAN WHO SAT DOWN AND LISTENED. 

If often happens that once in a life- 
time comes a sorrow to a man which 
seems to crush his very soul, but from 
which he emerges with a more strength- 
ened determination to fight the battles of 
life. 


‘‘How in ‘Sam Hill’ do you expect to up- 
build the city on a sandy, sand-burr cov- 
ered, dollar down and dollar-a-week prop- 
osition? The class of people buying these 


Years in Waiting 


lots are not what will make the city beau- 
tiful. Why don’t you wake up to the 
times, and investigate the proposition at 
the edge of the city, consisting of a hun- 
dred acres, before some other fellow 
grasps it?” and there was fiery deter- 
mination in Dick’s blue eyes as he saun- 
tered into the office of his new employer 
and confronted him. 

On leaving the eastern city, with grief 
hidden in his heart, his journey’s destina- 
tion brought Dick into a fair sized city 
in a western state, where opportunity 
awaited that man who could exercise that 
immense asset — tact. Dick Smythe was 
now more and more determined to suc- 
ceed. Being interested in real estate, such 
was the employment he sought. His serv- 
ices were accepted by Mr. Whitmore, an 
eccentric gentleman, who had accumu- 
lated a nice little sum during the twenty 
years he was in business, but whose skepti- 
cism prevented his business expanding. 


f32] 


Years in Waiting 


Dick had just returned from a sale of 
lots, which Mr, Whitmore started in a 
new addition, on the dollar down and dol- 
lar-a-week plan. Dick was used to doing 
business on a large scale, and this some- 
what dissatisfied him. 

With his queer, small eyes staring over 
the rim of his glasses, Mr. Whitmore 
turned around in his chair, and stared at 
Dick. He reached for a cinnamon drop 
candy in a sack on his desk, which he 
slowly chewed. It was the calm before a 
storm. Then again he resumed his stare, 
which was more haughty. To be in busi- 
ness for the past twenty years, and then 
to have a young scoundrel — such was his 
opinion of Dick — hand him a package, 
was more than he could stand. 

“Dick Smythe,” he fairly shrieked, 
“you are an idiot — Avorse, you are a fool, 
and don’t know it. What lunatic would 
buy a lot in that wilderness? Does your 


Years in Waiting 


weak mind suggest to you that these west- 
ern people buy lots for the sake of the 
lumber there is on them? Not on your 
life. Eats ! You easterners have to give 
up these new-fangled ideas if you don’t 
want to have the people here make fools 
out of you,” and with this, Mr. Whitmore 
got up, and stood before Dick, his eyes 
throwing daggers at him. 

Dick flung his cigarette vehemently 
away. ‘^Sit down,” he commanded — and 
Mr. Whitmore sat down — ‘^and listen. I 
must have all of your attention, under- 
stand, and don’t let any w'ord escape. 
Nor do I want any of your back talk, 
either. You are a back number, dead to 
the modern times. The one hundred acre 
proposition is more important to your 
business than this damned dollar down 
and dollar-a-week nonsense.” 

Mr. Whitmore leaned back in his chair. 
At other times he would have quickly dis- 
charged an employee who dared to open 

f34 J 


Years in Waiting 


his mouth so broadly. But he somehow 
admired Dick’s athletic form, saw his 
face wore an expression of steady pur- 
pose, and that his eyes had a fresh gaze. 
His was a face one could trust. 

‘‘What is your idea about those hun- 
dred acres?” he asked calmly. 

“My idea,” Dick replied, in a some- 
what subdued tone, but the sterness still 
being detected, “is for you to buy those 
hundred acres, divide them into fair sized 
lots, and allow me to push the sale of 
them for you. With building restrictions, 
it will make an ideal residential park, 
where the better class of people will in 
time flock. The skepticism of these peo- 
ple here must be overcome. This dead 
burgh must be awakened up to do things 
in a modern way. But first of all, and 
above all things, your own skepticism 
must give way to boosting this town up. 
You have the money to buy the place, but 
what you lack is worth more than all the 


Years in Waiting 


money you have accumulated these years 
at hard work, — it is grit. You buy the 
tract, and let me do the rest, understand ? 
If you don’t, I will buy it myself and you 
will then be in competition with a live 
real estate firm which will make you sit 
up and take notice. Are you on?” and 
Dick awaited Mr. Whitmore’s decision. 

Mr. Whitmore scratched his head. To 
be in competition with Dick would be 
something he did not desire. He 
• stared at him, but the gaze coming out 
of those queer, little eyes was softer. He 
reached for more of those red cinnamon 
drops, and handed the sack to Dick. 
Both munched, looking at each other. 
Mr. Whitmore secretly admired the divine 
fire of youth which was glowing in Dick’s 
radiant face. He then crossed his legs, 
and lit his pipe. Again he scratched his 
head. “But if you fail to make it go?” 
he asked, doubtfully. 


[ 36 ] 


Years in Waiting 


Dick lit another cigarette, and puffed 
vigorously at it. He propped himself 
against the wall. ^‘Don’t get cold feet, 
Mr. Whitmore — I don’t know the mean- 
ing of the word ‘fail.’ It is up to 3^011 to 
make a move,” Dick replied, looking him 
squarely in the face. 

Mr. Whitmore realized that this young 
chap, whom he a little while ago took for 
an escaped lunatic, was full of business. 
He did not want to discharge him, in fact 
he felt as though he could not. ^‘Well,” 
lie slowly drawled out, ^^since you see such 
great possibilities in those confounded 
Imndred acres, I will buy them.” 

Dick shook hands with his employer 
warmly, and saw that his battle was half 
won. The deal was made, and H. Whit- 
more became the owner of those hundred 
acres, much to the astonishment of the 
people who were familiar with him. 
Grading was commenced, streets laid out, 
and the plat divided into fair sized lots. 


Years in Waiting 


From then on the office of H. Whitmore, 
Heal Estate, took on different airs. 
Throngs surged the office, and out of 
curiosity asked for prices, which were 
gratefully given. Dick soon convinced 
prospective buyers that the lots were little 
parks, ideal places for their homes. The 
first year only one home was built, al- 
though several lots were sold. The en- 
suing year, Mr. Whitmore himself built 
a palatial residence, which was the real 
beginning. From then on, houses sprung 
more rapidly, and at the end of ten years, 
Edgewood, as it was known, was covered 
with homes, very few lots being left. The 
name of H. Whitmore, Deal Estate, was 
changed to Whitmore & Co., Dick enter- 
ing into partnership with his employer. 
Mr. Whitmore’s pessimistic ideas were 
thoroughly converted, and he was one of 
the city’s liveliest boosters. 

During the past ten years, Dick made 
friends b}^ the score. His smiling face 


Years in Waiting 


was in evidence at any meeting pertain- 
ing to the betterment of the city. And 
although his time was fully taken up with 
business affairs, which he gave his best 
attention, there were times he felt 
miserable. Invitations to the best social 
entertainments were extended him lib- 
erally, Avhich he now and then accepted. 
But there always was concealed within 
him that bitter recollection of the past, 
recollection which seemed to penetrate his 
soul, and which always seemed to leave a 
fresh scar whenever his thoughts dwelt 
on it. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

YEARS IN WAITING. 

From that fatal night, when all happi- 
ness that the future seemed to hold for 
her, was crushed, Patsey slowly dropped 
out of the social world. Carved on her 
memory, like an inscription, was a life 


Years in Waiting 


that was never lived, and a story that was 
never told. Night after night, when 
sleep was far, far away, Patsey would 
softly slip into a chair by the open win- 
dow, and watch the stars as they gazed 
down upon her. Their twinkling eyes 
would always fill her heart with hope. 
She would sit in the dead of night, and 
would hear the hall clock chiming the 
hours — one — two — three — while the mel- 
low tunes fluting in the swaying branches 
of the old pine tree whispered words of 
consolation and hope. 

It was about a year after Dick’s de- 
parture that Patsey read the announce- 
ment of Jack Barrington’s engagement to 
one of the season’s debutantes. Two years 
later, Charles, now being counselor at law, 
also married. Patsey often smiled, a sad 
smile, as she thought of not what it was, 
but what it could have been. Both her 
father and mother saw the change in 
Patsey, but they never questioned her. 


[ 40 ] 


Years in Waiting 


But Patsey’s years in waiting were well 
spent. She was a daily visitor at the Day 
Nursery, and there coming in contact 
with the small children, who were left in 
charge of the matron while their hard- 
working mothers toiled from the early 
morning until late at night to earn their 
daily bread, seemed to forget her sorrow. 
The innocent little tots, toddling around 
her with their radiant faces upheld, 
seemed to breathe the breath of genuine 
sympathy and intimate understanding as 
they gazed into that loving face. The 
packages Patsey bought for them were al- 
ways filled with sweets. Her carriage was 
also at their disposal, and every bright, 
sunny day, Patsey was seen entering the 
carriage with four or five of the children, 
heading for one of the city’s large parks, 
where the children romped and played, 
breathing the fresh ozone, and the bloom- 
ing flowers, the ponds where the lillies 
smiled at them, the birds flitting here and 


Years in Waiting 


there, seemed a heavenly blessing to their 
eyes, as they flitted here and there on the 
soft green grass. When King Frost made 
his appearance, and it became too cold for 
their daily rides and strolls, Patsey 
bought games by the score and amused 
herself by the hour watching the children 
play. Kow and then she would take them 
to the motion picture show, which was an- 
other blessing to them as their eyes 
opened in wonderment, watching the 
“wiggle pictures,” as they termed them. 

At the Day Nursery, Patsey came in 
contact with women who were deeply in- 
terested in the suffrage movement, and 
they smiled contentedly as they converted 
Patsey to their ideas. But although 
Patsey was in favor of the suffrage cause, 
she did not give it the attention she gave 
the Day Nursery. Whenever her spirits 
Avere depressed, it was there where she 
found consolation. 


Years in Waiting 


“Patsey,” her mother remarked one 
day as Patsey was preparing to go to the 
Day Nursery, ^‘it is so lonely without you. 
The house looks empty. Why don’t you 
bring two or three children home with 
A^ou to spend the day here? It would be 
something new for the little dears.” And 
from then on Patsey would often bring 
two or three of the older children to her 
home. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE HOUSE ACROSS THE STREET. 

It was a rare day towards the end of 
May — a da}'^ Avhen the soft southern 
breeze whispered softly of the approach- 
ing summer. That day a stranger 
strolled leisurely down the broad avenues 
of a large eastern city. On and on he 
strolled, gazing on scenes he so well re- 
membered. Reaching a corner, he walked 
up a shady street. He stopped. Across 


143J 


Years in Waiting 


the street from him was a house he could 
not forget. The soft gray stones of the 
house had taken on a tone that seemed to 
melt into the sky and the foliage around 
it. The velvety lawn, closely trimmed, 
strewn here and there with beds of 
flowers that nodded to one another as the 
gentle breeze swayed them closer together ; 
the fountain, where the birds were singing 
to the rhythm of running water, the tall 
lillies ready to break into flower, thrilled 
the stranger as he gazed. Climbing over 
the veranda were the early pink roses, al- 
ready in bloom, nodding to each other in 
sweet content; the shutters, slightly 
closed, keeping the inquisitive sun’s rays 
out, gave a sense of coolness within. And 
over all, was the enchantingly blue sky, 
wherein small, fleecy clouds, gently moved 
by the breeze, resembling a flock of white 
sheep grazing on a blue hill, with which 
the sun played peek-a-boo, made an im- 
posing background. Everywhere was the 


Years in Waiting 


fragrance of May. No first impression of 
a fair land could have come at a sweeter 
time. How peaceful and quiet everything 
looked to his tired eyes ! How his heart 
yearned for someone as he gazed and 
gazed. “How beautiful it all is!” the 
stranger said, as the warm southern 
breeze, so soft as to be barely felt, touclied 
his face. He sighed, hesitated a moment, 
and casting a sorrowful look towards the 
house across the street, dropped on the 
soft green grass. Suddenly, as if by 
magic, there floated from the partly 
opened window a tender soprano voice, a 
voice quivering with passion, crying sadly 
like the lament of a lost soul, far, far 
away. The soft breeze caught the words, 
and carried them gently to the stranger 
across the street. The voice held him in 
its irresistible power; he felt a sinking 
sensation around his heart as his ears 
caught the words: 


[ 45 ] 


Years in Waiting 


“Oh, don’t you remember the tree, Ben Bolt, 

Near the green sunny sloije of the hill; 
Where oft we have sung ’neath its wide 
spreading shade, 

And kept time to the click of the mill. 

The mill has gone to decay, Ben Bolt, 

And a quiet now reigns all around. 

The old rustic porch, with its roses so sweet. 

Lies scattered and fallen to the ground.’’ 

As the breeze carried forth the last word, 
the stranger drew his handkerchief from 
his pocket and wiped his brow, his hand 
slightly trembling as he did so. He felt un- 
nerved and weak. A chill passed over him. 
As the voice slowly died away, peacefully, 
the stranger again looked and listened. He 
forgot his troubles; he forgot everything. 
He thanked God for the opportunity 
spared him to gaze and listen. From the 
veranda came the talkative chirpings of 
gay youngsters. He listened intensively, 
so as to catch every word. He could see 
nothing, but he heard much, the joyful 
voices of the children, mingled with a 


Years in Waiting 


voice he just heard in song. A cloud 
passed over his grave face. He frowned 
and winced as the breeze brought forth 
those childish prattles. Whose children 
were they? And as an answer, three 
small youngsters, two boys and one lass, 
appeared on the lu-oad steps and scam- 
})ered in childish glee about the lawn. 
Then the owner of the voice he heard ap- 
peared on the steps, and admiringly gazed 
and listened to their innocent prattlings. 
Once she lifted her eyes and gazed across 
the street. He studied her face. She 
smiled and sighed, hut it was a sad sigh. 
His lips framed a call, but he hesitated — 
to call meant a renewed pain. His heart 
jumped as he heard her softly command: 
“Come, we must go hack.” She smiled as 
the youngsters scampered around her, 
(‘ach one trying to get hold of her hand. 
The stranger looked and forced a smile to 
his lips, a smile full of bitterness. 
Jealousy surged within him. “Happy 


Years in Waiting 


mother,” he softly said. He wiped his 
forehead again; his temples throbbed. 
How tenderly she helped them into the 
carriage that was standing on the drive- 
way. She got in, and the coachman drove 
away. The stranger rose and gazed after 
them. There he stood gazing, the car- 
riage gradually grew fainter to his view, 
receding and still receding, until nothing 
but a speck was seen in the uttermost dis- 
tance. He then cast another look at the 
house across the street, and his trembling 
feet carried him away. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A COINCIDENCE. 

It W’as a cold, wintry day. The whole 
city was enveloped in a raging, driving 
mass of white, and the blizzard that 
started in the early morning raged with 


Years in Waiting 


increased fury. The wind howled. In- 
side, the office of Whitmore & Co. 
seemed quiet and muffled as the flying 
snow spattered the window. Dick sat by 
the window and gazed out, watching the 
few pedestrians who had to face the storm. 
It was close to the noon hour, and he was 
wondering whether he should eat at the 
club, or go to the nearest restaurant. He 
glanced at the large clock, rose, donned 
his overcoat and hat, opened the door, 
and quickly closed it, as the wind drove 
in a sheet of snow. Being outside, he 
(|uickly turned up his collar and made a 
dash up the street for the nearest get-a- 
tray and wait-on-yourself place. 

“Hey, there, feller, stop that hat!” 
came to Dick’s ears, as a bedraggled, 
snow-covered hat blew under his hurrying 
feet. Dick picked it up, shook off the ad- 
hering snow, and handed it to the man 
who came running breathlessly to him. 


Years in Waiting 


“Thanks, thanks, — er — well — Dick 
Smythe !” 

“Well, upon my word, if this isn’t 
Charles Hayner ! AVhat brought you 
here, especially on a day like this — to this 
remote part of the country ?” 

“Accident,” replied Cliarles Hayner, as 
he Avarmly shook hands Avith Dick Smythe, 
“there was a freight wreck further up, and 
my train will be detained an hour. But 
to run across you, old chap, was some- 
thing I never dreamt,” Charles answered 
as he pulled his hat firmly down on his 
head. 

A mass of snow from off a roof almost 
covered them up. “B-r-r-r-r, a western 
avalanche ! Let us not stand here,” Dick 
remarked, as both were shaking off the 
snow. They turned up the street. 

“I presume your appetite is keen to- 
day, eh, old boy? You know these west- 
ern blizzards are noted for working up 


Years in Waiting 


one’s appetite,” Dick remarked good- 
naturedly, after they had passed the get- 
a-tray and wait-on-yonrself place. “Come, 
have lunch with me.” 

“Eat ? That was the source of my ven- 
turing out. Tacks would seem a dessert 
on a day like this,” Charles answered as 
they hurried up the street. Dick decided 
on the club, and that was where he led his 
guest. 

They were soon seated at a table, whei’e 
the hot soup cheered them up. The home 
cooking, for which the club was noted, 
was always appetizing. 

“I suppose your wife never looks for 
you on a day like this?” inquired 
Charles, as he helped himself to the po- 
tatoes. 

“Hardly,” indifferently. 

They ate in silence. The wind outside 
was increasing in velocity. 

“Tell me, Dick, what foolish notion 
h)ok hold of you to come to this neck of 


Years in Waiting 


the woods? Especially the good chance 
you had in Seabrook & Co.’s office?” 
Charles asked, as he motioned to the 
waiter and told him to bring him more 
potatoes. 

Dick dropped a lump of sugar in his 
coffee, which he stirred vigorously. ‘^Cir- 
cumstances,” he replied, as he dropped 
two more lumps in his coffee. “But, tell 
me, how is everything at home ?” 

“Well, there are, of course, many 
changes. I also got married these last 
years, and have troubles of my own — you 
know how it is when a fellow promises his 
wife he will be home early and then meets 
an old chum,” Charles said, as he reached 
for another piece of steak. 

Dick smiled. “Yes, I have a faint idea 
what that would be. As for me, I still 
.sew on my own buttons.” 

“You mean to tell me that you are not 
married? Dick, you surprise me. I al- 
ways thought these sturdy western girls 


Years in Waiting 


were rather fascinating,” Charles said, as 
he gazed good-humoredly at Dick. 

Dick ordered some more steak. “How 
is your family?” 

“Very promising, I assure you, old boy. 
Boy and girl — sixteen and fourteen, re- 
spectively.” 

“I presume he will be another coun- 
selor at law?” 

“Worse — he wants to be a physician,” 
with a proud smile. 

“Charles Hayner, Jr., I presume?” 
Dick asked, as he thickly buttered his 
bread. 

“My wife and I agreed on that — first 
time we agreed on anything — hut his 
Aunt Patsey could not see it that way. 
She would not have it any other way but 
Dick — Dick Charles Hayner,” Charles an- 
swered, smilingly. 

Dick winced. “Well, how is Patsey and 
her family ? Her chubby boys and — 


Years in Waiting 


^‘Wliat! Patsey and her chubby boys? 
What got that idea in your noodle? Well, 
well, that is a joke,” and Charles laughed 
outright, “you see, Patsey never married. 
I always predicted that, and she sure has 
turned into a fussy old maid.” 

Dick’s eyes brightened. Charles folded 
his napkin, and Dick handed him a cigar. 
Both smoked in silence. Charles could 
not have known that to Dick’s eyes the 
smoke, as it softly floated around, gave 
place to a house he saw years back, where 
Patsey and three youngsters came from 
the house, and got into a carriage and 
drove away. Something told Charles, as 
he saw the far-away look in Dick’s eyes, 
that his departure twenty years ago had 
something to do u'ith Patsey being an old 
maid. He smiled, and pulled out his 
watch, and saw that he had ten minutes 
before train time. “I must go,” he said, 
as both got up from the table, “it is nearly 


Years in Waiting 

time. Many thanks, old chap, and I hope 
there will come a time when 1 can 
reciprocate.” 

That evening Dick looked ont of the 
window of his room. His face was 
radiant. The blizzard had ceased, and 
everything was quiet. The windows, as 
far as he could see, were all silvered by 
the brightening moon. How the snow 
glistened as the soft moonbeams kissed 
it ! He then turned and opened a 
drawer in his desk. He took out a small 
piece of paper — yellow with age — un- 
folded it and smiled as he read : 

“I don’t want you to ever repeat to me 
what yon told me last night. There is some- 
one else. Miss Hayner.” 

There was a mischievous smile on his 
face as he folded the small piece of paper 
and put it in his vest pocket. 


Years in Waiting 


The next morning when Mr. Wliitmore 
entered his office, he found a note on his 
desk on which was written : 

“Uuoxijected business calls me east. Left 
oil the midnight train. Will be back as soon 
as I possibly can. In the meantime, do not 
sell that house in Edgewood. I will buy it 
myself. Dick Smythe.” 


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OCT 6 1918 































